


Warm Embrace of Death

by mooglez



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6807982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooglez/pseuds/mooglez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward is the bringer of death and the stealer of souls. As the Grim Reaper himself, Edward's lived a lonely existence in relative isolation, but all of that changes when Bella, the one person who can see and touch him, finds her way into his life at the age of six. How far will he go to make sure she remains by his side? </p><p>AU. Bella/Edward pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Embrace of Death

 

_Prologue_

__

_A few months from now..._

Death's arms encircle my waist and the heat of his bare skin against my own is almost too hot to handle.

"Hold on," he whispers into the shell of my ear. With a sudden tug, the room – with its creamy white walls and cheap furniture – disappears from view as he takes me away from everything and everyone I've ever known.

My eyes are squeezed shut by the time we touch ground and the denial of what's happening makes me keep them shut for a few more seconds.

What's that saying? If I can't see it then it isn't real?

"Bella? You can open your eyes now," he tells me with a soft laugh. I don't want to.

Something flutters around my ears and I try to swat it away without my vision.

"Come now," he says softly, coaxingly. "You asked for this, remember? Be brave."

One eye opens slowly. The other quickly follows when I see what's in front of me. There's absolutely no denying that I'm not on Earth or any mortal plane any more. Not even in my wildest fantasies could I imagine such a heavenly world.

I gasp, backing into Death's strong body as he grabs my shoulders to still me.

As breathtaking as my surroundings are I can't help but feel some resentment at my situation, which dulls the world's beauty.

"I'm going to die here," I whisper sadly. Perhaps I'm already dead. I'm not quite sure how these sort of things are supposed to work. When he doesn't respond I look over to him. "Aren't I, Edward?"

Death nods. "You should not have made a deal with me."

_Present Day_

Of course it has to be raining on the day of Leah's funeral. The sudden appearance of bad weather means the hundred or so of us have to take shelter inside the warm chapel while we wait for tents to go up at Leah's burial plot.

I stand shivering just inside the entrance of the church, trying to make myself invisible to the large, noisy group of guests. There are so many people in such a small space – most of whom I've never seen before.

They're mainly young adults in their early to mid-twenties. At twenty-two Leah was only a year older than myself and I suppose it shouldn't come as a surprise that a likeable woman had so many friends other than me and Jacob, but I had selfishly expected – or, perhaps wanted – it to be a small, quiet gathering.

Small groups were never as imposing as large ones.

My bitterness quickly turns back to sorrow as I watch Leah's younger brother break down over her open casket on the far side of the room, unable to hold back his loud, mournful sobs. They had lost their mother at a young age and when their father, Harry Clearwater, died of a heart attack a few years back Leah had wordlessly stepped up to become the maternal figure to her brother Seth. Now he has no-one.

I turn away from the scene to face the church doors, placing a hand on my chest to try to shake the grip of pain in my heart. I never knew grief could be so physically painful. The poets weren't exaggerating when they said mourning feels like a thousand knives through the heart.

With one hand up on the church door I'm almost close to having a breakdown when a very muscular, very naked torso bumps into me.

With a gasp of surprise I stumble for a second before strong arms surround me. They steady my wobbling form before pulling me into the bare chest without warning. I'm about to offer an apology but the words die in my throat when I recognise the familiar grip. _Him._

"I regret your pain," the half-naked man murmurs into my hair, his voice a parody of sympathy. I don't believe he even knows what pain or regret is; those emotions are much too human for him to understand.

I pull back slightly to get out of his arms without bringing any attention to myself. The man embracing me is no human, or at the very least he isn't a human anybody else can see, and I'd learnt at a very young age that when you try to communicate in public with an entity no-one else can people will write you off with having classic hallucinations. They'll medicate you and keep you out of sight. The nut case.

Crazy Isabella.

' _I see Death,'_ I had told my parents at the age of six, a few days after meeting the half-naked man I've come to know as Edward. Thankfully, when I was child he was always fully clothed in an old Victorian-era style of top hats, frock coats, or blouses, rather than parade around shirtless.

They'd laughed me off every time I mentioned my new _friend,_ thinking I was simply getting the lines from the movie 'The Sixth Sense' wrong. Eventually, when I refused to stop talking about _him_ , their laughs became frowns and my quirkiness was labelled mild instability. Then severe instability.

An imaginary friend isn't so cute when you pretend he kills things.

"You shouldn't be here," I whisper harshly, glancing around to make sure no-one would think I'm talking to them. "Look around you. It's because of you that we're _all_ in pain. You're not welcome here, Edward. Not today."

His lips pull back into a smirk as he lets me go with an exaggerated flourish. The movement draws my attention to all the white scars across his Adonis-like body, with a particularly nasty looking one trailing down from his shoulder to his elbow.

 _Like a Viking warrior,_ I think, not for the first time. His thick brows and deep bronzed hair that sits on his broad, muscular shoulders simply complete the image. Death shouldn't be so attractive, he should be a crippled old man with missing eyes and teeth hobbling along with a cane.

I shouldn't have to clench my legs together every time I see him.

"Bella," he says my name with a breathy sigh, "I think if anyone should be at a funeral it should be me. Really, I should have a special 'guest of honour' seat at every single one – all things considered."

My hand begins to spasm lightly as the urge to hit him washes over me simultaneously with the urge to bawl my eyes out. Instead, I close them and settle for doing some breathing exercises I'd learnt as a child.

 _Breathe in, breathe out. And in, and out._ It takes a little while, but eventually I calm myself down enough to face the current bane of my existence. He's no longer smirking, his thick brows instead pulled together in concern.

"I really do regret these circumstances, Bella. If it helps you, I took your friend before she experienced too much pain."

In a macabre way knowing that does help. A little.

"Please," I beg, "Just leave and let me mourn in peace. Alone."

"No. I wish to be here."

He folds his arms and straightens out his neck and back muscles until his entire six-foot-two frame – I measured as a child – is looming over me. If I didn't know better I would think he's trying to intimidate me. I sigh internally knowing he will do as he pleased no matter what I say, especially now that he's set his mind to it. Simply ignoring him might be the easier option, and I don't want to get into an argument at a funeral.

"Then if you're going to be here you at least need to dress respectfully," I whisper, gesturing to his bare chest and plain dark trousers, adorned with multiple straps that serve to hold numerous weapons. Weapons he never carries or needs.

I must linger too long on his form as his chest puffs out behind his folded arms subtly – unintentionally – and with all the arrogance and pride of a male peacock.

"I will remind you that none other can see me. It does not matter what I wear."

"I can see you, so yes, it does matter. Please change."

"If you insist," Edward says with a solemn nod before he shifts.

When I was a teenage girl I was _almost_ jealous at the way he could change into, or conjure up, anything he wanted. The very second a model stepped out onto a runway in the latest Armani he could have it on him, and yet he preferred to remain near nude. He called the things he materialised a simple illusion but I felt the fabrics just fine.

A long, black hooded cloak now envelopes him completely, hiding his devilishly handsome face and tall body in its shapeless material. He's clutching a plain, steel scythe in one hand. "This is more suitable, is it not?"

I'm sure he intends it to be sarcastic but it _is_ a much more suitable look for Death. For the Grim Reaper. The man who takes souls from dying bodies.

I've known him for almost as long as I can remember and while the black cloak gives me some comfort in its ability to hide Edward's nudity, I can't hold back the slight tremble of fear as I peer into the black void of his hood, trying to find his familiar face.

It's pitch black. Soulless.

"Bella," a croaky voice says from behind me. I jump in surprise before whirling around.

It's only Jacob, my boyfriend of eleven months. He's wearing a dark suit that highlights the slightly red discolouration of his face and eyes; an obvious sign he's been crying hard for quite a while. His usually straight black hair is a complete mess. "Hey. You doin' okay? You were staring rather intently at that wall."

That wall would've been Edward.

"As well as can be expected. I was just thinking."

He nods before taking hold of my hand lightly. "We've finished putting the tents up. Do you want to say your goodbyes before we take her? It'll be a closed casket outside, of course."

Leah's younger brother is away from her casket, being held by his elderly great-aunt I've only met once in passing. Without a backwards glance to Edward I tug Jacob along with me towards Leah's coffin. It's so much easier to feel confident in the big group with him by my side.

When we reach her the first thing I notice, besides her unnatural stillness, is that her once long, dark purple hair is cut short and dyed back to her original black shade. The deep magenta hue had been so strikingly beautiful against her dark skin that she never switched back, keeping it perfectly maintained and styled for over five years.

 _Not that it matters any more,_ I think before bursting out into uncontrollable sobs.

A few others glance my way as Jacob wraps an arm around my shoulder in comfort. He's only a few inches taller than my short five-four height, so I fit well into the crook of his arm. Out of embarrassment or empathy he tries to soothe me with long strokes up my back and soft cooing sounds.

It's a similar action one might take when trying to tame a hurt, wild animal. But it works; my sobs begin to ease.

Reaching forward from Jacob's embrace I lay my hand on top of Leah's still one, not caring in the slightest if it's against the rules to touch the deceased. Before her death the only differences I would have noticed is the extreme contrast of our skin, but now that I have her hand in my warm, pale one, I can feel the unnaturally cold, rubbery texture of it. Nothing about her looks right – everything is just _slightly_ off.

A wax statue is a better way to describe what I'm seeing.

"Goodbye, Leah. You know I'll always love you," I whisper. It's the hardest goodbye I've ever had to say. Sister Mary's line ' _death is easy for the dead; it's the living who have it rough'_ never seems more true than it does right now.

I quickly settle back into Jacob's side. He squeezes me tight before leading me outside and I burrow my face into his chest to hide my tears while the clergymen arrange for Leah to be moved. I wish this wasn't really happening.

As we make our way towards the flimsy tents I keep my eyes locked onto the moving grass beneath my shoes. In an attempt to distract myself from my surroundings I take to counting the amount of weeds or flowers I step on on our way. Zero, so far.

Cemeteries are terrible places. In general they're creepy, but for the 'insane' women like me? Those who see Grim Reapers, and who see things they they shouldn't? They're downright terrifying. Death by himself I can handle just fine – he's all swagger and talk – but the other beings I've been gifted to see are a nightmare. A literal nightmare.

Although I've only ever seen a few ghosts before, their audible, mournful cries were enough to last a lifetime. Since my very first meeting with one I've avoided every place I could think of that might contain a wandering spirit: hospitals, cemeteries, morgues, and retirement homes to name a few. Haunted house tours are definitely out of the question. Even Halloween parties give me the shivers.

Sometimes I just get really unlucky and they appear in areas I wouldn't expect. A regular McDonald's restaurant for one. That was an experience I'll never forget.

Feeling a smidgen of bravery, I look up from the ground for the briefest of seconds to scan the area; nothing but rain soaked headstones. Tombstones, dirt, and people. It's clear. I'm just about to breathe a sigh of relief when I hear it.

The shrill, piercing shriek of a forgotten soul rises up from somewhere behind me. Somewhere close.

I shake my head in denial, frantically humming a tune under my breath in an attempt to drown out the soul's wails but it doesn't help. She's so _loud_. I clutch hard onto Jacob's arm, resisting the urge to bolt. I hum louder.

The ghost's unworldly presence is behind me now. A low moan echoes into my ear and I stop breathing. The hairs on my arms stand up and I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter in an effort to make reality disappear.

_Stay calm. If no-one else can see it then neither can I. It's not there. It's not real._

I think I hear the word 'please' being whispered softly. My heart is racing so fast from fear that it's hard to keep my balance. Cold, dead fingers run the length of my arm. I want to faint.

"I have got her," I hear Edward say. Cracking open a single eye I watch with caution as Edward simply strides with purpose past me, his robe billowing out behind him, to the ghost. That otherworldly smell – an incredible, intense aroma that sometimes emits from him, especially around other ghosts – drifts past at the same time he does.

I don't turn to see what he's doing – I don't _want_ to – but I know it's gone when the warmth of the area returns, despite the heavy rain.

Breathing a long sigh of relief I turn back to focus on the funeral. It seems I've missed the first few minutes as the pastor speaking is in the middle of the opening part of the eulogy. He's a short, round man who has trouble breathing while speaking so I take the few seconds of silence in his speech to calm my own breathing and racing heart.

"Was that a hymn?" Jacob says softly when the pastor pauses. "It sounded nice."

I nod silently, my cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. I hope I didn't disturb anyone else with my humming.

The rest of the funeral passes quickly and quietly. Thankfully, Jacob keeps his arm around me the whole time and I suspect it's as much for his own comfort as it is for mine. Him and Leah were as close as siblings.

"Now, I believe Isabella Swan has a few words to say?" the funeral director says looking out at the crowd.

I catch his eye and minutely shake my head, clutching at the paper in my coat pocket. I wrote down everything I wanted to say about Leah yesterday but now that I'm standing here I know I won't be able to pass the words out over the lump in my throat. There are too many people. I can barely breathe as it is after the unexpected ghost appearance.

Ashamed of myself for my lack of involvement while the director calls upon others – all of whom give moving speeches – I settle for saying a few silent prayers into the rosary around my wrist. I turn to leave when they begin lowering the coffin into the ground, unable to witness my best friend being laid to rest.

Unable to stay to watch dirt being piled on top of her final resting place. I'm not that strong. I'm not strong in the slightest.

"You should stay," I say to Jacob before leaving. "I have to leave, though. I can't stand another minute."

"Okay," he whispers, his voice thick with tears, "I'm going to stay for the repass after. Is it okay if I come around to yours when it's finished?"

I nod quickly. As much as I want to be by myself and just weep and weep I know he needs me. We need each other. I've never experienced such a loss before but I know it's normal for most people to stay close to their loved ones during a tragedy and I would never turn away the man I deeply care for during such a time.

My tears dry as I move towards my shabby, little truck. The orange, rusted exterior of it made for a cheap sale but it drives fine, which is all I need. The biggest selling point was just how little fuel it took considering its old age. I just can't afford to waste the few dollars I make _at_ my job on the fuel I need to drive _to_ my job.

Edward doesn't make his re-appearance until I'm halfway down the highway, doing well over 90 km/h in the pouring rain.

"Father above! Do you _want_ me to have an accident, Edward?" I bite out in surprise when I notice his, again, half-naked body in my passenger seat. He's sitting with one boot perched up on the dashboard, his tall frame unable to fit gracefully in my truck's small interior. "As far as we know I'm the only one you can speak with. If you want your silence back you can simply avoid me rather than give me a heart attack at this speed."

"I do not want that."

"Then what do you want? I'm guessing it's not a shirt or a joy ride."

He doesn't answer and when I take a cautious glance towards him I see his eyebrows are furrowed together in thought.

"You didn't leave your friend any mourning goods."

Not what I'm expecting, my mouth drops open in surprise. "Mourning goods? I don't know what that- do you mean flowers? Look, I'll go back tomorrow morning and put some there. I just... can't right now."

"There's no need," he replies, leaning his head back with closed eyes in a picture of relaxation. "I've taken care of it."

"What do you mean you've taken care of it? You didn't do something to her coffin, did you?"

"Yes. I placed jewellery of the finest gold inside of it."

"That's..." Unnecessary in this age? "... really thoughtful. Thank you. She did love her gold trinkets."

"She was a good woman, your Leah."

"Yeah." I will my tears not to come back. She really was a good woman. Was.

My first friend out of Fair Lady's school for troubled girls. We had hit it off during my first year at university and she quickly became my best friend – whether she wanted that title or not. I had lived a very sheltered life, I still do, and she showed me how fun and wonderful things could be when you let go and give them a chance.

Now there will be no more late night texts to go new places at odd hours, or horror movie marathons that make me squeal in fright while she bounces on the couch next to me in excitement. I want to blame Edward for all of it, but I know that's not fair.

None of this is _fair_.

We sit in silence as I wipe my sleeve against my eyes and speed up, eager to get home and spend at least an hour in solitude before Jacob arrives. The houses and areas I pass slowly begin to become more and more decrepit and broken-down the closer I get to my house.

When I arrive home, to my tiny one bedroom house with no backyard, I potter around the front door for a few seconds, scared of what I might find inside.

It was less than a week ago that Leah had been killed in a home invasion gone wrong and before then it had never occurred to me that such violence could happen in what was supposed to be a safe place. Dying in your own home?

I spent so much of my life at Fair Lady's Catholic boarding school that it's easy to forget a home is simply a building. Easily entered. Easily destroyed. Spending over a decade of sleeping in the same place as hundreds of other girls made me feel safe. Now it's just me, alone in a tiny house with Death as company. He makes a good watchdog, though.

"There is no-one inside, Bella," Edward says knowingly at my back. I open the door and he nudges me through. Sometimes I think he enjoys poking and prodding me simply because he can – he would go straight through any other mortal, taking their soul with them as he passes.

"I know," I mutter in embarrassment, "I was just finding the right key."

He barks out a laugh while making himself comfortable inside, lounging out on my small sofa. It would look funny, a six-foot-two man trying to fit comfortably on furniture barely large enough for a teenager, if he didn't look so unbelievably handsome doing so. I try to keep my heart rate at a steady pace, knowing this isn't simply a man, but Death incarnate. It doesn't matter how good his bronze, wavy hair looks against my furniture, or how safe I feel wrapped in his strong, scarred arms, because he isn't human. I need to learn to feel safe on my own.

I try not to spend too long looking at him as he always gets so smug when he catches me, although I'm usually just in awe that I can see Death and can't quite believe it.

I spend the next twenty minutes cleaning the place up in preparation for Jacob before moving into the kitchen to prepare something light to eat. I've eaten nothing since yesterday morning, unable to keep down anything solid in my stomach knowing I was about to attend a funeral.

"Do you want something to eat?" I ask aloud, knowing the answer is, of course, _no_. However, it was a strict part of my upbringing to never eat without offering your guest something, and it amuses me to watch him try the few times he agrees.

He's able to pick up the food and put it in his mouth, but once his hand releases, it simply drops through his body to the floor. Watching him drink is even better. I haven't figured out why he's able to interact with other objects if he chooses to but I don't waste sleep over trying to work it out.

"Marmite."

I glare down at the stale cracker in my hand, silently cursing every person who made the quip to me in Edward's presence. My parents moved to England for a year when I was six, trying to find a suitable school for mentally disturbed children. When it didn't work out they moved back home to Arizona while I was shipped off to a boarding school in Forks. Unfortunately, I never quite lost the barely noticeable lilt of my English accent.

"Very funny," I say, watching him try to hide his smile behind a large hand. His sharp, squared jawline is hidden behind a light beard – not quite stubble but not quite thick enough to hide his creamy skin underneath. "You get nothing, then, since we're all out of Marmite."

"'Tis a shame," he mutters before vanishing off the couch in the blink of an eye. Moments later he appears at my side behind the counter, holding a jar of the spread in his hand. I take it from his outstretched hands with a breathy laugh. A simple illusion, my butt.

"Or not. Guess we're having sandwiches. That is if I have any bread."

The sound of a knock – loud and sharp – cuts through whatever Edward was going to say. I smooth down my thick hair out of instinct, taking a few steps towards the door when I see Edward, again, has already shifted there.

"I'll get it," he exclaims, wrenching it open with more strength than is necessary.

Jacob's standing behind it, holding a fist up and looking as surprised as I feel.

"You really need better security if a small knock can open your door like this," he says, glancing at the hinges on my door, his eyes seeing through Edward's body. "I could have been anybody."

"Yet it's always him," Edward says, throwing a dark smile to me over his shoulder. It's times like these I'm glad no-one else can see him.

I make a noncommittal sound aimed at both of them. My heart is pounding frantically inside my chest. I don't like having Edward so close to Jacob – one wrong, sudden move and he'll be gone. Just like Leah.

"Can I come in?" Jacob asks politely. "I decided to skip the repass. I thought you might need me more."

I glance up at Edward, willing with all my might to make him disappear. To give me this time alone with Jacob so I don't have a heart attack at their proximity.

He must understand what I'm trying to do because his smug smile disappears for a second before it comes back in full force. He rolls his neck to either side with ease, stretching out the taut muscles in them – not that they would need to be stretched at all.

"Of course," I answer, gesturing with a hand for Jacob to come in, "I was just about to make sandwiches."

He steps forward, half a second away from colliding into Edward. My breath catches in my throat, my hand stretching out in instinct, in an attempt to do something, _anything_ to stop them from touching.

My worries are all for naught though, as Edward simply frowns at me, throws a look of dark loathing at Jacob and vanishes before my eyes. I calm my racing heart with a few deep breaths.

 _God._ That man is going to kill me one day.


End file.
